Daybreak
by Iggycat
Summary: "What could you possibly give a man who's already had everything?" USUK


_A/N: This was originally going to be a tumblr drabble but it turned out just a tad too long. Oops. Well, enjoy!_

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing. Rights go to the respective owners. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya._

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"Hey England," America said softly, as he stared sidelong at the elder nation. He loved these short-yet-fleeting moments right after lovemaking where England was neither too distant nor over-bearing as he sometimes could be. In such warm moments, England was kind, but also oddly philosophical. It was always late at night, after America had rolled off of him that England questioned things like human emotion and the meaning of life. America, ever excited about what he could not understand, loved the ideas England tossed about in the wee hours of the morning, and enjoyed falling asleep with such intricate thoughts and surrounded by another warm body. It was what America looked forward to most on his trips to London, and on one particular night, after the stars had faded from his vision and England had stopped panting, he brought the nation close and posed his own question.

"England, I have a proposal," he started eagerly as the elder of the two blinked up at him. Surely England was surprised seeing as he was usually the one to dominate the conversation and America was often content to simply nod and perhaps add a word or two of commentary.

"Yes?" England prompted as he let America wrap his arms around him.

"I've been thinking," the younger spoke, barely pausing so as not to let England chime in with a snide remark. "And I'd like to give you something."

"Would you now?" England propped his head up on an elbow as America continued to hold him tightly in his grasp. "What could you possibly give a man who's already had everything?"

"You haven't had everything," America challenged as he tucked a few stray strands of hair behind England's ear. "At least not until 1943, you haven't."

"Oh, don't think so highly of yourself," England said with an eye roll, clearly misunderstanding the younger nation. That's not what America had meant to say at all. "You make it sound as if dating you has been the climax of my existence."

"I don't mean me," he assured, looking England in the eye. "I meant this." He motioned briskly between them. "You know, us. I'm pretty sure no other nations have what we have."

"America, if you think we are the only two nations having sex, then you are blatantly incorrect."

"We're not just having sex," America replied with a frown. "We have more than that. We kiss and hug and cuddle. I cook for you, you read for me." He blinked at the elder nation who was looking at him the way a child looks to a parent for an explanation of something they do not understand. "And for the record we don't just have sex. We make love. It's different."

"America, one more sentimental word out of your mouth and I worry I won't be able to tell you apart from France."

America smiled softly as he took England's hand and held it tightly.

"Alright, sorry, but I'm trying to be serious," the American answered, intertwining their fingers. "I think we have more than a lot of nations. This relationship with you," he said, squeezing England's hand. "It's like nothing I've ever experienced before, and I'm willing to bet it's the same for you."

England did not answer at first. The two sat in silence for a moment as pale moonlight littered tiny specs of white light onto their hotel bed.

"You are not the first to share a bed with me," England said at long last. "But you are certainly the first to so adamantly assert a difference between having sex and making love. And you seem anxious to make me aware of such a distinction."

America stared at England, not quite comprehending.

"So... you're saying that my love-making is top-notch?" he tried with a confused smile as England let out a breathy sigh.

"I'm saying that you are unwavering in the belief that you, yourself, are special." America's smile faded as he took in those words. He would have defended himself had England not held a finger to his lips.

"That being said," England whispered, letting loose a small smile. "I would have to agree that you are, in fact," he wracked his brain for the proper word. "Unique."

America grinned at him. All those famous poets and authors and that's all England could come up with?

"You really have a way with words, England," he laughed, moving closer to press a kiss to the elder nation's forehead. "I love you too."

England let his eyes droop as America pulled away, but the younger nation tapped him on the nose.

"Hey, I can't have you falling asleep. I haven't even gotten to the best part yet."

"Get to it then," England replied, blinking his eyes awake. He drowsily rubbed at them as he stared at America.

"Okay, so the whole point of me brining up the relationship, the fact that we're different, or that we're 'unique' as you might say," he smiled at England who responded with an eye roll. "Well, it's that, when I'm with you, I don't feel like a nation anymore," he started to explain with semi-frenzied hand gestures. England was now the one looking up at him in confusion. "I don't mean that in a bad way," America continued, looking towards the ceiling. "It's just, when I'm alone with you, and we're kissing and laughing and making love, for a minute it just feels like we're not immortal, ya know?" America turned back to England. "And I love that you can make me feel that way. Like all my senses are heightened because I know I've only got a limited amount of time on earth with the person I love."

"America..." England began but truly didn't know how to reply. Luckily, the younger nation wasn't done speaking yet.

"You make me feel alive, England. Like I'm living, breathing, pumping blood, and feeling and expressing things other than pain. With you I can feel happy, I can feel love, I can feel all the things that a nation will defend to the last man without even truly understanding," America slowed as he wrapped up what he was trying to say. "You make me feel human, England."

The elder nation was again at a loss for words, but this time he stared at America with rapt attention, the drowsiness in his eyes and mind completely gone.

"So I've been thinking," America started up again when he saw that England was not going to respond anytime soon. "About how you make me feel human whenever we're alone together, and I thought maybe I could give you something that we could share, just when we're in dinky hotel rooms like this one, on days like today." America reentwined their fingers, at last done with his frantic hand gestures. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to let me give you a human name."

"A human name?" England parroted as his brows furrowed.

"Yes, just for us. So I could have something to call you, England, the real you, not the nation."

"But England _is_ my name."

"No, England is your identity," America said with a gentle smile as he lifted his free hand to the other nation's cheek. "Arthur will be your name."

"Arthur?" England tried it out on his lips. "As in the king of the Britons?"

"Yes," America nodded, pleased that England was being so receptive to the idea. "I spent months considering names until I settled on Arthur. It means strong as bear, which I thought was fitting for you," America smiled. "Because you, Arthur, are not only a paragon of your nation's physical ability, but you are also incredibly headstrong. Two very different sides of the same coin, each an impressive feat of strength."

"I feel that if I was you, I would take this opportunity to make some filthy comment about how remarkably strong I am in bed as well."

America chuckled, the sound burbling up from his throat and blooming into a full on, boisterous laugh.

"Maybe I should have picked a name that meant 'witty' instead, huh?" he asked, when at last his laughter died down.

"No, I rather like Arthur," England said, coming ever closer to the American. "Though I do have a question," he confessed, lifting his head to gaze down at the younger nation. "Do I get to give you a name as well, America?"

"Of course. I know I brought this on really suddenly, so feel free to take as long as you'd like in decidin-"

"Alfred," England interrupted, eyes darting from America, to the bedside table, and back.

"What?" America questioned, wide-eyed and very obviously surprised.

"Do you not like it?" England seemed almost saddened by the possibility. America, of course, wouldn't have that.

"No, no, I do," the young nation assured as he held England's gaze. "It's just that, you picked so fast, you know?"

"Isn't that what humans do? Make hasty and irrational decisions?" England asked, turning America's 'feeling like a human' speech on its head.

"Well, yeah," America admitted. "But where did you come up with it so quickly?"

England's eyes drifted just over America's shoulder to where a dusty book and pair of reading glasses lay idle on the bedside table. America craned his neck to follow the other nation's eyes before looking back at him for an explanation.

"I'm rereading a collection of poems by Lord Alfred Tennyson," England said easily, placing a hand on America's cheek. He let his thumb gradually slide back and forth along the soft pink skin. "It was the first name that came to mind and quite an honorable one at that."

"You really think I should share a name with someone who was so eloquent with his words?" America asked innocently, and in return, England simply scoffed.

"America, you named me after a bear."

"The _strength_ of a bear," America corrected, holding up his index finger. "Very different."

"Either way the point remains that I am not the strength you attribute to me, nor need you be a poet," England said with a subtle smile. "After all, didn't this all stem from feeling like something you're not?" England continued to stroke America's cheek as he leaned closer, the tips of their noses just barely bumping against one another. "We are not human, America, but for you, in these moments of solace, I will be Arthur."

"Arthur," America whispered tenderly, so unlike his usual animated self. "Thank you." America placed his hands on either side of England's face and closed the gap between them. Hundreds of times they had kissed, but never had it felt like this, so passionate and volatile. So lively, so _human_.

"I'd hug you," England smiled as they pulled away. "But I worry I might crush you with my bear strength."

"Oh shut up and come here," America chided, though he was grinning as he pulled England into a tight embrace, resting his chin upon the elder nation's head. "I love you, Arthur."

"I love you too, Alfred."

They stayed like, in each other's arms, as moonlight continued to paint indecipherable pictures on the wall with brushstrokes of pale light. Neither moved, and neither said anything more as they closed their eyes and blended into the darkness of the room.

This was what America lived for, the fleeting moments right after lovemaking where England was here with him, both physically and mentally. In the brief dawning of a new day, America truly felt at peace. It was at this time that he too could change from night to day, and become something he was not. In those moments, he was Alfred, he was human, and he was so very desperately in what mankind liked to call love.


End file.
